


Rumble

by papesdontsellthemselves



Series: Greaser AU [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Making Out, Outsiders AU, bad tags, sister stabbing sister shook, yah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-23 19:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papesdontsellthemselves/pseuds/papesdontsellthemselves
Summary: some uhhh newsies greaser au content





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw: homophobic slurs, stabbing, steamy situations

Electricity coursed through Race’s veins as Spot reached up, tangling his fingers in his blonde curls and tilting his head, deepening the kiss even further. Race hummed, tightening his grip on Spot’s waist and pushing him further against the wall, smirking against Spot’s lips when the breath of a moan escaped him.

It was thrilling, the leather of his own jacket combating the blue boiled wool of Spot’s letterman one. They weren’t supposed to be doing this, the long standing rivalry between the Greasers and the Socs holding strong. But Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins had never been known to stick to the status quo. 

It had started as a heated fling. Adrenaline riding high after a particularly intense rumble one evening led them to Race’s dingy bedroom, where they had spent the night on his mattress, words scarce and breaths heavy. They’d played around like that for a while, stealing kisses when no one was looking, holding teasing eye contact across classrooms. It drove Race crazy, though. He wanted more, his passion for Spot giving way to love, care for the Soc worming its way into his stomach and seizing hold of his heart.

This internal conflict, however, was quickly resolved when Spot had pulled him into the boy’s restroom between periods, leading him into a stall and kissing him gentler Race could have imagined. He’d whispered his love onto Race’s lips, insisting that they become something closer than what they were. 

Race had agreed, but they had a reputation to uphold. For as long as anyone could remember, they hated each other. A childhood bond breaking awfully when Spot’s dad got a decent job and moved their family to the other side of town, instilling a jarring pretentiousness within Spot and damaging his friendship with Race. 

So, although the hateful feelings had ceased, the snide remarks and nasty sneers remained ever present when they were in public. It was a painful mask to wear, biting names at each other and digging into known insecurities for the sake of their act. It worked, though, because no one suspected a thing.

Race ducked his head down, pressing a bruising kiss to Spot’s neck, allowing his teeth to graze the skin. He began to suck a hickey into the sensitive area, but stopped when Spot nudged him away.

“Mm, the last one just faded,” he breathed, watching Race through lidded eyes.

Race just smiled, “All the more reason to leave another,” he kissed Spot briefly, reaching around to grasp Spot’s ass, squeezing it playfully, “gotta let everyone know you’re unavailable.”

Spot narrowed his eyes, though there was no hint of malice in them, “Fine, but if you’re gonna leave one, go lower. Bumlets noticed last time.”

Race swallowed, alarm spreading through his veins, “Did he ask you anythin’? What’d ya tell ‘im?”

“Relax,” Spot said, easily, playing with the curls at the nape of Race’s neck, sending a jolt down his spine, “Told ‘im I made out with Sarah Jacobs.”

Race’s eyes widened momentarily before he cracked a grin, a laugh forcing its way out of his stomach, “Sarah Jacobs? That David kid’s sis?”

“That’s the one.”

Race snickered, “Did Bumlets buy it?”

Spot shrugged, “Guess so, he was off my ass after that.”

Race whistled, “Does Sarah know you two apparently made out?”

“I told her I needed a cover,” Spot said, looking mildly uncomfortable, “But I didn’t say what for.”

“Did she ask?”

Spot shook his head, “Just went with it.”

“Good friend,” Race said, nodding approvingly. His eyes flicked down to Spot’s lips, “Now where were we?”

Spot laughed, leaning in to kiss him, “So eager.”

“Yeah well,” Race fisted Spot’s jacket, tearing it off his shoulders and making Spot gasp, “You’re irresistible.”

Race left their little escapade with Spot’s jacket still held loosely in his grip and a bounce in his step. The sun was completely set by the time he ventured back to his neighborhood, wandering down the street freely until he came up to his house. 

“Where were ya?”

Race froze, the blood draining from his face as he turned to the side, shoving Spot’s jacket behind his back. Seated on the rickety armchair that had always resided on the front porch was Race’s brother, Albert, arms crossed at his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and a pair of their other brother, Jack’s, old pajama pants hung casually on his hips. It was obvious that he was about to go to bed.   
“And what did you just try to hide from me?” Albert pushed, raising his eyebrows and nodding to Race’s arm, which was still behind his back.

“Mind your own business,” Race snarled, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

 

Albert studied him for a moment, his gaze landing on Race’s hair, “Why is your hair all fucked- oh my god,” his expression changed from one of skepticism to pure shock, “You’re hookin’ up with someone, ain’t ya?”

Race spluttered for a moment, feeling his blush deepen, “No,” he sounded entirely unconvincing.

Albert smiled, hopping up with way too much fervor for Race’s liking, “You are! Who is she?”

Race grit his teeth, eyes shifting away from Albert. He couldn’t lie to him- he’d never been able to- but he couldn’t tell the truth either.

“No one,” he mumbled, “‘M goin’ ta bed.”

He hurried inside, briefly glancing down the hallway to where he could see Jack reading on their ratty sofa, before bounding up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door, locking it behind him and slumping down on his matress, kicking off his shoes along the way. He wriggled out of his jacket and jeans and pulled his blankets up to his chest, tucking Spot’s jacket under his head, breathing in the comforting and familiar smell. 

He allowed it to lull him to sleep, calming his nerves as he was pulled under.

XXX

“Higgins, where’d ya get those jeans?” Race set his jaw, fighting the urge to smile as Spot’s voice entered his auditory, “Did your mother buy them for you? Oh wait,” Spot clicked his tongue, “Guess she can’t now that she’s what, six feet under? If you could even afford to get her properly buried.”

Race turned towards him, noting the apologetic undertone in his voice, “Nah, got them from your parent’s closet when I was visiting your mom last week,” he leaned against his locker, “I must say, she’s really brilliant when she’s-”

Spot lunged forward, slamming him against the locker and biting his lip to keep from laughing, “Don’t you dare speak about my mother like that, Higgins,” he growled. Race had to give him credit, his acting was brilliant. 

“Or what?” Race countered, reluctantly shoving him back and taking note of the small crowd that had circled around them. Spot pretended to flounder for a moment and Race took the opportunity, “You Socs are honest pussies when it comes to fights,” he scoffed, “Suck my dick, Conlon.”

Spot’s eyes flashed and he grabbed Race’s ear, yanking him down to his level and whispering, “Better meet me out behind the school after last period,” he pulled away, raising his voice once more, “And that’s a promise, Higgins,” the crowd around them hooted, obviously expecting some sort of threat to be fulfilled, “Watch your back.”

Race watched him leave with his posse, letting his guard down. Faux fights with Spot always instilled some sort of excitement in him, the lie a fast wave to ride.

The school day crept by painfully. Race sat restlessly in his classes, bouncing his leg vigorously as he watched the clock tick excruciatingly slow. He was out of his seat, backpack slung haphazardly on his back the moment the bell rang, He walked faster than strictly necessary to the back of the school, where Spot was already waiting. A cigarette hung lazily from his lips and he looked up as Race approached, plucking it from his mouth and holding it out in a silent offer.

Race took it blindly, pulling a deep drag before chucking it to the ground and stepping on it as he moved forward, pinning Spot to the wall and pressing their mouths together. The taste of the cigarette melded between them, adding a certain heat to their already intense session. Spot gasped against his lips, whining when Race reached down, unzipping his fly and unbuttoning his khakis. 

“Aye, Conlon, there you-”

Spot drove Race away from him, fumbling to fix his pants as Hotshot approached, looking both confused and furious.

“What, are you two fucking or something?” He barked, rounding on Spot, “Thought you wanted nothing to do with this Greaser scum.”

Spot seemed to regain his composure, “I don’t,” he said, voice low, “He came onto me, I was just about to beat the shit out of his faggot ass.”

Race winced, mentally forcing himself to remember Spot was pretending.

Hotshot frowned, nose scrunched in disgust, “Yeah? Kinda looked like you were enjoying it.”

Spot rolled his eyes, attempting to shoulder past Hotshot, “Whatever.”

Hotshot grabbed his bicep, holding him in place, “You two really wanna prove your little rendezvous wasn’t what it looked like? Be at the lot tonight at sundown. Shouldn’t matter what happens if these little fairy flings are fake.”

Hotshot threw Spot to the ground, spitting next to him before leaving. Race watched him go, making sure he was out of sight before reaching down a hand to help Spot up. Spot shook his head, his chest heaving as he hoisted himself to his feet.

“We could run,” Race said, “Leave before tonight.” He was trembling, certain that his face matched Spot’s pale expression. 

Spot looked like he was having some sort of aneurysm as he backed away, “No, I, uh-” he sounded breathless, scared, “I gotta go, I’ll see you...tonight, yeah, uh. Be there,” he finally looked at Race, “Please.”

Race shook his head, dumbfounded, “Spot, we don’t have ta-”

But Spot was gone, footsteps echoing as he ran in the opposite direction.

XXX

Race sat on his mattress, nausea turning in his stomach as he watched the sky change through his window. There was probably homework he could be doing, but what did it matter if he was just going to be killed this evening. Rumbles were unpredictable; a nasty throttle of blood and animosity. It was rare that anyone actually died, but that didn’t stop the worst possible outcome from crawling into his brain.

These things were huge, large sums of both sides turning up for each one. Race usually liked them to a degree, finding the exhilarating atmosphere entertaining, but that was when he wasn’t the center of the conflict. Now, it was just sickening.

“Aye, if you’re coming to the rumble, we should get goin’ now.” Jack peeked his head into his room. 

Race forced himself to look at his older brother, trying to smile as convincingly as he could. He hadn’t told Jack and Albert that he was a key contender in the rumble, just that there was one. Though, in hindsight, he should’ve refrained from talking about it at all- not that it would have stopped them from finding out. Word gets around fast.

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” Race said, clearing his throat and scooting forward to pull on his shoes, “Al comin?”

“You know the kid,” Jack leaned against his doorframe, holding out Race’s jacket for him, “Could never pass up the chance ta watch a fight.”

Race choked out a laugh, though it sounded more like a whimper, “Yeah,” he flinched as his voice cracked.

Albert was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, shoes tied and jean jacket on, “C’mon guys, the sun’s settin’!” he exclaimed, reaching out and pulling Race out the door, “It’s gonna start soon.”

With each step Race took towards the lot, it felt like he was approaching his doom. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with Spot and find comfort in their closeness, but he couldn’t have that now. Besides, Spot was clearly mortified, there was no way he was up for cuddling right now.

The mass of people in the lot was visible even from a distance, already divided seamlessly into two sides. The three boys approached, naturally fusing into the side that housed the Greasers, blending in with the hoard of rowdy looking boys. Race’s eyes scanned the other group, immediately finding Spot at the head of the crowd, clad in his favorite red sweater. He was jeering at someone from the Greasers, though Race could sense the apprehension emanating from him. 

He tried to blend in, staying purposefully towards the back, but it was no use. He made piercing eye contact with Hotshot and felt the blood drain from his face as the Soc’s face morphed into one of triumph. He shoved his way to the middle of the split and held his fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly enough to gain everyone’s attention. Race looked back at Spot, who was staring at Hotshot, lips parted slightly. 

“We’re gathered here this fine evening,” Hotshot began, his tone innocent, but eyes fiery, “Because I had the pleasure of witnessing something extraordinary,” he had everyone’s apt attention now, “See, I was walking after school, looking for our favorite shorty here,” he yanked Spot out of the crowd and Spot grimaced, looking like he wanted to disappear, “When I found him behind the school,” he paused for affect, “Pants unbuttoned and tongue down the throat of-” Murmurs were already rippling through the crowd, “Racetrack fucking Higgins.”

Race shut his eyes as he felt every head turn towards him. Somewhere to his left, he could hear Albert mumble, ‘what the fuck’, along with a few confused hoots from other people. He wanted to run. He wanted to grab Spot and skip town and pretend that none of this was happening- that they were okay. But his feet were glued to the spot.

“Now, I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding,” Hotshot spoke again, “Seeing as it is common knowledge that these two cannot stand each other,” Race gasped as someone pushed him to the middle, “I’m sure this little debacle can be cleared up.”

Race opened his eyes, sucking in a breath when he realized how close he was to Hotshot and Spot.

“You two hate each other, yes?” Hotshot hissed, leaning in close to him.

Race nodded vigorously.

“Prove it, then,” Hotshot jabbed, producing a switchblade from his back pocket, “Stab him.”

Race choked, “Stab Spot? You want me to stab your best friend?”

Hotshot laughed, “He’s not my best friend,” he said, “Not as long as he’s okay with kissing on other men,” he pressed the knife into Race’s hand, “Now go.”

Race stared at the blade, turning it over in shaking hands before flipping it open. He could feel the crowd watching him with baited breath and he spared a glance at Spot, who was watching him with desperation written on his face. Race focused his eyes, making a split second decision.

He lunged forward, tackling Spot away from Hotshot and pinning him to the ground, driving his knee into his side. He flipped open the knife and held it between them, watching as Spot’s expression calmed.

“I love you,” Spot murmured, breaths evening out, “Do what you have to, it’s okay.”

Race drank in his expression, bathing in the warmth of his rich brown eyes and cherishing the beauty in his hard features.

“I love you, too,” He muttered back, “I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath, plunging the blade into his own stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood, stabbing/stab wounds, violence, crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayyy i love this au

“I love you,” Spot looked into Race’s eyes, a sense of calm washing over him. Nothing mattered right now. Their situation was fucked up; it wasn’t fair in the slightest. But if this is what needed to happen for Race to be safe, then it was okay. They were okay, “Do what you have to, it’s okay.”

A million emotions and thoughts seemed to flit through Race’s mind, landing on something dark and desperate, and all at once, dread flooded Spot’s body. That wasn’t a look he liked.

The darkness drained from Race’s face, ultimately landing on pure adoration, “I love you, too,” he muttered, low enough so only Spot could hear, “I’m sorry.”

Spot shut his eyes, waiting for the nauseating pain of the knife entering his body. But it didn’t come. Instead, a shrill, horrified cry rang out somewhere from the Greaser crowd. He froze, confused. This wasn’t lining up, why wasn’t he in pain? 

Then, he felt the wetness on his torso. Something was seeping through his sweater. Something thick and uninviting. He cracked open his eyes, immediately spotting the blood that stained his stomach.

Oh, so he had been stabbed. He looked up at Race, prepared to convince him that it was going to be okay- that it wasn’t his fault. His eyes traveled up to his boyfriend’s face and the nauseating pain became a reality, manifesting in his soul and spreading to the rest of his body. 

He fought the urge to throw up as he took in Race’s pale face, head bowed slightly and lips parted. Bloody spit was dangling from his mouth as he took unsteady, unfulfilling breaths. His eyes were closed, arms shaking violently from where they held him up on either side of Spot’s body.

Most disturbing, however, was the ever-growing patch of blood on the front of his shirt, parallel to where blood was streaming onto Spot. He wasn’t even aware of the presence of Jack and Albert until they were pulling Race off of him, horrified shouts ripping from Jack’s throat as angry howls sounded from Albert.

Spot laid there, shock rendering him immobile. He turned his head helplessly, watching as Jack tried, in vain, to stop the bleeding. Race was unconscious now, a line of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, down his cheek- stark and glaring against his now, sheet white skin.

His heart sank, defenseless grief consuming him as he watched Jack sob over Race, who was obviously fighting with every ounce of his being to stay with them. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream at the world for cursing them like this. He couldn’t lose Race, he couldn’t lose what they had worked so hard to build. 

He didn’t want to live a day of his life without Race’s challenging smirk, or soft caring touches when he was sure they were alone. He didn’t want to live without Race’s impeccable ability to tend to Spot’s moods how he saw fit. Whether it be with a teasing comment or hidden shoulder to cry on, he could always sense what Spot needed. It was rare for Spot to let anyone in- to hand someone the key to breaking down his walls.

But Race had taken that key on his own, chipping away at Spot’s hardened demeanor and revealing his true nature underneath. He was gentle with this privilege, though. As if he were aware of his special circumstance and wanted to do everything in his power to remain within Spot’s walls. He was never one to challenge Spot’s heart, but took on the role of his unforeseen logic filter- carefully steering him back on track when he was leading himself astray.

They clicked in an odd way. The understanding they had for each other was unfathomable. They worked in their own way. Their similar stubbornness and mirroring hard-heads led to bickering, yet they always bounced back. They knew when enough was enough.

They bounced off each other seamlessly, understanding without words what the other was feeling or thinking from a singular look. A shift in mood was spotted from a mile away, while others couldn’t see past their poker faces.

They were always there to restore the light in each other’s eyes when life took its toll on their spirit.

Except now, Spot wasn’t sure he could restore Race’s light.

Jeering and whistling from the crowds brought Spot out of his reverie. He looked towards the source of the noise to see Albert pressed against Hotshot, fist balled in the latter’s shirt. He was shouting incoherently, terror and anguish the only discernible emotions under the anger. Hotshot at least had the decency to look scared.

Without warning, Albert slammed Hotshot to the ground, barely wincing when his head made hard contact with the black concrete of the parking lot. 

Hotshot cried out, lifting his head momentarily before giving into the pain and laying back gingerly. A small puddle of blood was forming underneath him and Spot averted his eyes, tired of seeing blood, only to find himself looking at where Jack was attempting to tend to Race. Whimpering, he trained his gaze on the night sky, noting the abundance of stars twinkling that night. Odd. There were usually never stars.

“If he dies, I’m going to make your fucking sorry, hateful life a living hell,” Spot tuned back into Albert’s seething voice, “And that’s a fucking promise.”

He heard Albert spit, but didn’t bother looking at Hotshot’s current state. He couldn’t care less. He laid his head down sideways, zeroing in on the knife that must have slipped out of Race’s grip sometime during the commotion. Light from the stars reflected on the blade, causing it to glint invitingly. 

An invisible force seemed to guide his hand from where it was frozen at his side towards the knife. His fingers curled over the hilt, noting the cool, black plastic as he held it in his grip. He sat up heavily, hunching forward as he held the knife in front of him. He studied it, enthralled by the blood that was already drying on it. 

He swallowed, hovering it in front of his body, levelling it with his stomach- right where Race’s blood stained his sweater.

“Hey, what the fuck’s Conlon doin’?” Someone in the crowd called out, bringing all eyes to Spot.

More voices joined the first, calling out alarmed warnings. Someone else was kneeling next to Spot, a hand placed over his own, trying to coax the knife from his firm grasp. Spot became acutely aware of the agonizing sobs that were tearing from his chest, painting tears on his cheeks. He shook his head, weakly trying to push the hands away, but it was no use. 

He looked up, making pained eye contact with Albert, who looked momentarily relieved to see Spot present. But Albert’s expression quickly morphed into sickened panic when Spot overpowered his strength, driving the blade of the knife into his own gut- barely faltering when he felt the skin break. 

XXX

Spot never liked hospitals. They had an off energy. Pain and misery carefully masked by the pristine white walls and overly fluorescent lights. 

The first thing he registered when he woke up was the dull, thrumming pain in his middle. He groaned, fighting the urge to pass out again as he lifted his head to peer down at his body. A thick, white bandage was layered heavily around his stomach, limiting his ability to breathe freely. He sucked in a breath, thoroughly unsatisfied by the fact that all the oxygen seemed to stay vacant from his lungs. He let the breath out a little too quickly, resulting in a pained coughing fit. He started to wheeze, tears squeezing through his eyelids and down his cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath. 

The commotion coming from his hospital room must have been fairly loud, because a moment later, a kindly nurse entered. Spot squinted up at her, pained gasps still sounding resiliently from him. The nurse clicked her tongue, crossing to his bed and sitting on the edge.

“Breathe, dear, it’s alright,” she spoke softly, a concerned, yet welcoming smile gracing her features, “I know it’s a bit tight, but if you slow it down, the pain will go away a little faster.”

Spot nodded vigorously, making an effort to suck in steady breaths. After a few long minutes, he had his breathing under control. 

“There we are,” the nurse praised, “Now, I’m Miss Medda, I’ll be overseeing your care and subsequently, your release. Okay, let’s see about redressing those wounds of yours. I’m going to need to touch you, is that alright?”

Spot felt a rush of gratitude towards Miss Medda. People rarely took his comfort into consideration.

“Yeah,” he croaked, clearing his throat, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

He watched as Medda nodded, moving down to carefully unwrap the bandage. He waited with baited breath as the layers of white gauze fell away, gasping when the deep, dark red stab wound was revealed. He felt tears spring to his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

Just that afternoon, he and Race had been lost in each other. Safe in their concealed love, still blind to the outside world. Yet, just in a few mere hours, it was torn away from them. Race was torn away from him. Race.

Spot’s eyes widened as he felt the blood drain away from his face, remembering with a jolt what had driven led him to this hospital room in the first place. 

He looked at Medda quickly, opening his mouth, but stopping when he realized he had no idea what to ask- or if he even wanted to hear the answer.

Medda seemed to sense his shift, because she looked at him, the comforting calmness of her eyes washing over Spot once more, “Is everything alright, dear?” She asked, guiding him to a sitting position as she began to redress his wound. 

“Is…” He bit his lip, training his eyes on the ceiling, “Do you know if Race- uh, Antonio, er, Higgins, yeah,” he shook his head, putting himself back on track, “Did he...make it?”

Medda hesitated and Spot felt his stomach drop.

“He’s alive…” Medda began.

Spot blinked, “But…”

Medda sighed, securing the new bandage with some medical tape, “He lost a lot of blood, dear.”

Spot stared at her, trying to process her words, “Is he gonna make it?”

Medda sat on the edge of his bed, pulling the latex gloves from her hands and crumpling them in her fist, “He experienced something called hypovolemic shock, which occurs in a number of situations, but namely when someone loses a lot of blood at one time. Luckily, he was brought here in the nick of time, but he did need a blood transfusion.”

“But, he’s good? He’s safe?”

“I think he will be,” Medda squeezed his leg reassuringly.

Spot slumped back into his pillow, a relieved sob tearing from his throat, which soon turned into many, wracking sobs. He attempted to hide his face under his arms as every ounce of pain, adrenaline, fear, panic, and anger from that day crashed onto his chest. He heard Medda hum and felt the mattress dip as she moved closer to him, carefully placing a consoling hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“It’s not fair,” Spot sobbed, curling his hands in his hair and pulling, “None of this is fair, I just want to love him.”

Medda seemed to pause and Spot stopped breathing, horrified that he’d just outed himself. 

Medda, however, was quick to recover, “I know you do, sweetheart, it’s unfair that you two cannot express yourselves freely,” she took a moment, reaching out to pull his hands from his hair and rub a thumb over his knuckles, “But never, ever think that your love for one another is less cherishable or true than other’s. Your love is as beautiful a story as anyone else’s, the world just isn’t ready for it yet.”

Spot felt his sobs reduce to hiccups, breath slowly ebbing back into his lungs. 

He nodded, “Okay.’

XXX

Race dug his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he crossed into the richer side of town. It was a warm Spring evening. Birds were still chirping in the trees and the sun still fighting for a few more minutes of light, despite the late hour. 

He straightened his back, feeling it pop a bit as he stretched. A dull pain twanged in his stomach, where his stab wound was still valiantly healing, and he grimaced, absentmindedly rubbing the area, but stopping when it only made the pain worse. 

It had been a week since he’d been released from the hospital, but he hadn’t had a chance to see Spot yet, still banned from returning to school. He was well enough now, though, and it was Spot’s night off from work at the diner, so he seized the chance. 

He lifted his head, absorbing the cleanliness of this side of town. All the houses looked similar. Pristine front lawns and perfect white picket fences surrounded him and Race couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Screw these cookie cutter neighborhoods. They were as fake as the people in them.

Sometimes he hated being from the ‘poor side’, but moments like these, he grew to appreciate his origins in the grit. What would his life be without the rowdiness of his brothers and roughhousing on the streets? 

A figure bounded out from a house a few paces down and Race leaned forward a bit, squinting as the recognizable haircut came into view. Anger bubbled in his stomach and he picked up his pace, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he approached the figure.

As soon as he reached arms length, he spoke, “Hey, asshole,” he bit out, smirking when the figure froze, “I lived.”

He stuck out an arm, taking harsh hold of Hotshot’s shoulder and spinning him around, barely giving him a second to blink before his fist connected with his mouth. Hotshot let out a shout of surprise, careening to the side as blood began to flow from where Race punched him. He hissed, spitting out a tooth before lifting his head to look at Race.

Fear, but more importantly, guilt swam in his eyes, “Higgins, I-”

Race scoffed, adrenaline now coursing through his veins, driven by vengeance, “Save it,” he hoisted Hotshot up by the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards him so they were nose to nose, “I don’t wanna hear a goddamn thing from you,” he snarled, “But if you ever so much as look at me or Spottie again, the knife won’t be in my stomach this time.” 

He considered for a moment before kneeing him in the crotch and shoving him to the ground, smiling triumphantly as he walked away, Hotshot howling in pain behind him. A few minutes later, he found himself climbing the tree that led to Spot’s sister’s room. He peered inside, tapping the window when he saw Spot’s little sister, Sophia, sitting on her bed, reading a book.

She looked up and smiled when she saw Race, hastily placing her book down and bounding over to let Race in. She was one of the few people that knew about their relationship and had never judged them for a moment. Or if she had, she kept it quiet for her brother’s sake. Race admired their bond.

“Heya, Racer!” She exclaimed, helping him climb through the window frame, “How are you feeling?”

“Definitely better than last week,” Race fixed her with a lopsided grin, “How are ya, kiddo? How’s Spot? Is he home?”

Sophia rolled her eyes, “Slow down,” she said, “I’m good, Spot’s been sad, and yes, he’s home. My parents are off at the store, so you can just head across the hall.”

“Thanks,” Race said genuinely.

“Of course,” Sophia grabbed his arm, yanking him towards her bedroom door and shoving him out, “Now shoo.”

Race suddenly felt nervous, unsure of how to confront what he and Spot had gone through. He lifted his hand to knock on Spot’s door before he could get cold feet. 

 

“Sophia, it’s open, you can just come in,” Spot sounded vaguely annoyed and Race smiled. God had he missed that voice.

Race took a bracing breath and slowly opened the door, peeking his head in. Spot was sitting at his desk, facing away from the door. His posture was hunched and pained and Race frowned. Something wasn’t completely right here.

He replaced the smile on his face. Whatever it was, they could address it after their reunion.

“Not Sophia,” He sang, laughing when Spot’s head whipped around towards him, eyes blown wide.

“Race!?” He nearly shouted, leaping out of his chair and striding towards Race. They embraced, tucking their noses into each other’s necks and drinking in their familiar, safe scents. 

Race pulled back, letting out a teary laugh as he and Spot made eye contact. Then, they were kissing. Expressing every emotion they’d experienced in the past week into a singular, fiery motion. It felt amazing. 

Spot bit down on Race’s lip and Race let out a small moan, pushing him backwards towards his bed and lowering them onto the mattress. They made out for a few minutes, sighing happily every few moments. 

Race took his hands from Spot’s hips and let them wander up his shirt, but stopped when he felt an all too familiar fabric around Spot’s stomach. He pulled back, alarmed, and yanked up Spot’s shirt, paling when he took in the bandage, which was placed in an almost identical location to his own.

He looked at Spot, dumbfounded, “Spot, what…”

Spot carefully removed Race’s hands from his shirt, lowering it back down over his stomach. He sat up, scooching towards the wall and leaning his back against it, wrapping his arms around his knees. 

“Did, uh, did no one tell you?” he asked, eyes flitting around the room, avoiding Race’s.

Race shook his head, suddenly angry. What had happened after he passed out?

Spot sighed, placing his head against the wall behind him and closing his eyes, “After you, um, did what you did, I kinda...I don’t know. Everything was a lot and yeah, I’m not sure, I kinda… did the same? I didn’t wanna live without you.”

“Jesus, Spot,” Race murmured, scooching forward so that he was directly in front of Spot. He intertwined their hands, suddenly thankful that they were both there to do that, “What if ya hadn’t made it? I don’t think I could…” he swallowed, shaking his head and leaning over to press a soft kiss to Spot’s lips. They lingered for a moment, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. I’m so glad we’re both here.”

Spot pulled him into his chest, “I am too,” he ran a hand through Race’s curls, “I love you, Tony.”

“I love you, too, Sean.”

XXX

“I’ve always wanted to come to one of these things!” Race bounced excitedly in the passenger seat of Spot’s car as they pulled up to the drive-in movie. It was a Friday night and they had both been completely cleared for their injuries, so they’d decided to celebrate.

Spot glanced sideways at him, smiling as Race’s eyes widened when the giant screen came into close view. It was already playing some previews and the movie itself was bound to start soon. 

Spot put the car in park, “You wanna go grab us some snacks while I get the right radio station tuned?”

Race tore his gaze away from the screen to grin at Spot, “Sure thing,” he leaned over and pecked Spot’s lips, sending a jolt into Spot’s stomach, “Be right back.”

Spot watched him go, still feeling feeling electricity from their kiss coursing through his veins.   
He held his fingers to his lips, love overcoming him. That’s what they were- electric. They took the world by hidden storm, fueled forward by their unstoppable love. 

Because although the world wasn’t ready for them yet, they were unstoppable. They wouldn’t be held down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> chap 2 coming soon


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